Better Off Now?
by mag721
Summary: A Puckleberry Finn one-shot inspired by the Script's "Nothing." / He sat and waited for a response. An 'I love you' was asking for a lot; he understood that. But he was hoping she'd at least say something. Anything.


_AN: Hi. I know...It's been awhile. I apologize. Hopefully, this **Puckleberry Finn** one-shot will get me back into the swing of writing. The plot bunny hit me after listening to The Script's "Nothing." It is in a very different style that I haven't written in before, and it would thrill me if you reviewed to kind of boost my confidence (since it's been sooo long since I've written at all!) I hope you enjoy it. :o)_

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><p><strong>Better Off Now?<strong>

He stared stupidly at his fourth whiskey. The bartender had already made his last call, so everyone was slowly filing out, on to other bars or perhaps trudging home to their sleeping wives. Soon enough, it was only him slumping over his barstool and burly Joe behind the bar.

"You want me to call you a cab, sonny?" the gruff man asked, almost sympathetic to the young man who'd been a regular for far too long.

"Nah, I'll walk," he mumbled. "Give me some time to clear my head."

"Whatever you say," Joe shrugged, turning his back to wipe down the last of the bar.

He swallowed roughly, the taste of Jameson still burning on his throat. This was it. This was the last night he was going to drink away is pain. No, that wasn't true. But at least he liked to tell himself it was.

She was gone. She just left. No, that wasn't true either. She'd been gone for a long time. Left Ohio the day after high school graduation.

_I'm going to be a star, she said_.

He knew there was no way the Big Apple would turn her down. She took Broadway by storm, even if it took her a few of working two waitressing jobs to pay the rent on her tiny brownstone apartment.

He pushed himself off the barstool, left Joe some big bills for his trouble, and then headed to the door, alone with his aching thoughts.

If only he had followed her. What would his life have been like had he just said _screw it_ and just hopped on a plane to follow after her? So many times that thought filled his brain. So many times he wished he was right there beside her, listening to her sing, watching her smile, smelling her hair, anything just to be with her.

He shook his head. No, he just _had_ to be an idiot and think that New York was no place for him. He just _had_ to let the girl of his dreams slip right through his fingers. He just _had_ to make himself miserable every night for the mistake he made over three years ago.

Some people would say it was overkill. Artie told him in no uncertain terms that he needed to stop wallowing. Mike was a little more sympathetic, but even he was getting tired of the moping to a certain extent. Even Mr. Schue tried to get him to snap out of it.

He knew it was no use. She was, and always would be, the one who got away.

He walked down the empty streets, vaguely aware of the few people milling around him. It was almost two in the morning, yet there were still some stragglers out and about in Lima on a Thursday night.

_Stupid Lima. _Stupid Lima was not where he was supposed to be.

He shuffled along the sidewalk back to his apartment. It was times like these that he was grateful he had his own place. He had a good job. He was working at McKinley, as Beiste's assistant coach. He even helped Mr. Schue with Glee club. It wasn't like he didn't have things to make him happy.

He just didn't have _her_.

Struggling with the key, he finally pushed his door open and flopped onto the couch. It groaned from his weight, and he reached to flip on the television. The soft light glowed across his face as he mindlessly changed channels searching for something other than reality TV or infomercials.

Maybe he could just call her. Yeah, he could do that, right? So what if he was a little drunk? She needed to know how he felt about her. He had to do it before he lost the nerve, and with every passing second, that nerve was dwindling.

Not caring that it was nearing three a.m. or that he couldn't form a single coherent thought other than _,_ he dialed her number.

One ring. He took a deep breath.

Two rings. His eye began to twitch from the alcohol and adrenaline surging through his veins.

Three rings. He began to lose his nerve, and was about to press that dreaded red End button, when it happened.

"Hello?" the voice said, sleepily on the other line.

Geez, she sounded just as adorable as she always did. He can almost picture her curled up on her side with her petite hand tucked under her cheek. He smiled at the image.

"Hello?" she said again, this time with more volume and slightly more annoyance at being woken up in the middle of the night.

"Oh, yeah," he said stupidly. "Hey, Rachel. It's me."

There was a pregnant pause, a heavy sigh, a sniffle, and then her small voice again. "What are you doing? Why are you calling me?"

There was no accusation in her voice, just a sincere question, one for which he did not really have an answer to…not a good one at least.

"I, um," he stumbled, "I just needed to call you. I wanted to hear your voice."

"Oh," was all she said in response.

This time it was he who sighed. "Listen, I just—I just wanted to call you and tell you that I love you. I should have followed you to New York. I know you have your life there, but you need to know that. You need to know I love you. Please say that you love me." The words slurred and tumbled out of him like water.

He sat and waited for a response. An _I love you_ was asking for a lot; he understood that. But he was hoping she'd at least say something. Anything.

But when she didn't saying even a word, he sighed once more. "I'm sorry," he murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I shouldn't have called you like this."

"I'm sorry too," came her soft reply as he took the phone away from his ear to hang up the cursed call, before throwing it across his room in anger and regret.

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><p>Rachel wordlessly hung up the phone as a few tears threatened to leak out of her eyes. It did not matter that she felt nothing for the boy on the other side of the line anymore…she hadn't in a very long time. But still, hearing his voice after so many years shook her to the core.<p>

As she settled back into sleep, the warm body next to her curled his strong arm around her waist and absently caressed her side. She sighed at his touch.

"Who was that?" he asked, leaning over to kiss her hair.

"No one," she whispered, shifting to scoot closer into curve of his body. "We'll talk in the morning."

He hummed in contentment, and she smiled, knowing this was exactly where she was supposedly to be.

"I love you, Rach," he mumbled, again nuzzling against her.

She craned her neck around to clumsily find his lips in the dark. The moonlight shone through their window just enough for her to see the sleepy smile on his face. She kissed him again, this time with all the passion and love she felt.

"I love you too, Noah."

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><p><em>So, yeah, a little different than what I normally write. Please review. I would love feedback of any kind. Thanks so much! xo<em>


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